On Saturday, I was drawn to my local cricket club. I strode to the middle, stopped at the end of my run, the wicket looked superb, and, for a few moments, I imagined the crack of ball on willow, the ripple of applause from the boundary and the occasional shouts of “Howzat!” But I was imagining it. [Interruption.] Yes, in my case, it is imaginary—they always unfairly turn me down. Up and down the country, thousands and thousands of men and women, boys and girls are desperate to play competitive cricket. England is not England without cricket. Leader of the House, would you persuade the chief umpire to stroll across from No. 10 next week and make a statement in the House that play can resume?